One Thousand and One Nights
by Masamune's Song
Summary: A series of Aeriseph oneshot crossovers, framed by a crossover with Shahrazad's bid for her life. AerisxSephiroth
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All this stuff belongs to SE.

* * *

Once, in a land of white sun and white sands, there lived ruler more powerful than any before or since. 

His subjects called him 'the Great General' and worshipped him from afar, for he was reckless and terrible toward his enemies.

All was well, until his advisors urged him to produce an heir, and brought before him a woman of fair face and good breeding, by the name of Scarlet. Within a month of his wedding, the General discovered his new bride plotting-- with her lover-- to overthrow him. His judgement was quick.

Their deaths were slow.

But his wrath did not end with the conspirator's lives. Every advisor who urged him to take a wife also suffered a blade, as did their families, and any who dared voice a word of protest.

And still his rage did not subside.

To his people's horror, he announced he would wed again-- not once, but every night. And each bride would perish with the dawn.

That evening, a lovely young woman-- a debutante of proud family-- was called to his chambers. In the morning, her body was delivered to her parents.

The next day, a common prostitute was arrested and brought to him. At daybreak, her corpse lay at her usual streetcorner.

A cry of despair rose from the General's subjects-- for they saw that neither the power of wealth nor the obscurity of poverty could protect them from their lord's madness.

The nights that followed were called 'The Scissor Nights' for every father who valued his daughter, and every woman who valued her life, sheared off her hair, and dressed as a boy, and hid indoors. The sound of scissors-- cutting hair, cutting fabric for new clothes, cutting rags into thick curtains to cover the windows-- rang all across the land.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

The sound of fear.

The General had a harem built-- not large, as harems go-- but with thick walls and barred windows, and guards posted at every door. It was here that he brought the short-haired women who caught his eye, and here that women waited for their turn to perish.

Some, he did not even sleep with-- only wedded and slew.

The land ran red with the blood of innocents, and many men wept for sweethearts or sisters, but none dared defy the Great General.

One woman, however-- did.

Even when the Scissor Nights became Scissor Years, her windows remained unshuttered, and her hair trailed down her back in a single plait. Moreover, she walked the streets freely, selling flowers in the near-empty bazaar.

She was the daughter of the General's single surviving advisor.

Her name was Aeris.

* * *

"Your new bride, my lord." 

The guard bowed, then hesitated, clearly wondering if he should pry Gast away from his daughter before departing.

Sephiroth dismissed his sentry with a jerk of his head, glowing green eyes never leaving the pair before him.

The girl-- covered in a gauzy veil-- sat with her hands clasped in her lap, and her father hovered over her, tears visible in his eyes. Gast was whispering, but Sephiroth could hear him anyway: "Sweetheart, _please_. There _must_ be another way . . ."

The veiled head gave a quick shake. "I'm sure about this, Father. Leave it be now. I'll be alright-- whatever happens."

He could tell by the angle of the head that she was watching him, steadily, even as she spoke to her father, not staring at her hands and trembling like all the others.

The old man, apparently percieving that he was getting nowhere with his daughter, spun around to face _him_.

Sephiroth cut him off before he opened his mouth. The General was half-afraid the old man was going to beg for his daughter's life, and nothing grated on Sephiroth more than pleas for mercy.

"You know I did not ask this of you, Gast. In fact, I had no intention of doing so."

_Although I cannot say I am sorry. I've heard your daughter is lovely._

The man looked like he _would _cry, then.

"I know!" he almost wailed, "But _please_! For the Planet's sake--"

"Enough!" Sephiroth rose, drawing himself up to his full height. "Get _out_!" He half-dragged, half-pushed the old professor out of the room. At the doorway, he added, almost gently, "For your sake, old friend, I'll make it very quick. I'll even keep the body mostly intact." Then he shut the door in Gast's face.

* * *

Time: About 3.5 hours. 

Note: Kind of an odd place to leave off, I know, but I'm getting tired. I just really wanted to post something today. It's my birthday.  
Oh, and I should warn you, while I may eventually write an "ending" for this fic, I doubt that it will ever be "done." Sharazad/Aeris will continue to tell stories ad infinitum.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Square Enix still owns all this and not me.

Further Disclaimer: The following contains innuendo that some readers may find disturbing. If you think you might be one of them, please don't read this.

* * *

For Xan

"Great _Planet_! I'm right _here_,you know!" He turned to find the girl on her feet, hands balled at her sides. She _was _trembling now, but with anger. Her veil, intricately worked with little jewels and beads, caught the light so it looked like she was raining sparks.

She had heard that little exchange.

And she had the audacity to be angry.

"You could have at _least _heard him out!" she cried. "How many things has he asked you for? And he's known you your _whole life_!"

He inclined his head at her. Her anger seemed less due to the fact that he had chatted about her execution in front of her, and more due to the snub her father had received.

_Puzzling_.

In fact, all of her reactions seemed a little-- more-- than human.

"Who is your mother?" he asked.

The veiled girl fell silent, apparently recollecting herself, and, seeing that her outburst was to be ignored-- sat back down.

He could almost hear her seethe.

* * *

He was younger than she had expected. The way her father described him made him seem timeless, like some mythical demon that knew no age. 

She had felt sorry for him, as a girl, when her father brought home stories of the boy in the laboratory: a child bred for war, a son with no mother.

Then he butchered Wutai, and took the empire for himself, and began his systematic destruction of everything female.

She had stopped feeling sorry for him a long while ago.

He circled her now, taking in the sight of her from all angles. The sound of his heavy footsteps were lost in the thick carpet, but his leather boots creaked softly as he walked around her.

The veil gave the room-- and his pale body-- a hazy appearance, softening the angles of a harsh, white face. His firefly-green eyes burned though, seeming to bore straight through the filmy fabric.

She watched him as he made his slow circuit around her, turning her head as he circled behind her back.

_He's handsome_, she had to admit. _In a cruel, sharp sort of way._

"I _asked _you a question," he said.

"She's dead," Aeris replied.

"Ah."

_He might have said, "Sorry to hear it," or "Mine too," or even, "That doesn't answer the question." But all he said was, "Ah." _

As if he was less interested in her answer than in _making sure_ that she answered.

_Yuck. _

_It's not fair, Planet. Why do hideous men come in such gorgeous packages?_

"Was it my doing?" he asked. He had stopped now, standing close beside her, one hand resting on the hilt of his ever-present sword.

"No," she said, "Turks."

"Ah," he said again. His body warm and too, too close. "She should have avoided them."

"She was _trying_," Aeris replied levelly. So Gast had not told him that his wife was a Cetra. Sephiroth clearly thought her mother's death was one of the many crossfire-casualties, not a hideous botching of the Turks' entire mission.

He arched an eyebrow in reply.

Apparently, all this conversation wore him out.

Two white hands reached forward slowly and lifted the veil off her face in a gesture that was almost graceful.

She looked up at him, face-to-face now with the man who would kill her by morning-- if she particularly impressed him. If not, her execution would come from a subordinate.

For a moment, when their eyes first met, he looked almost startled. But that might have been an illusion, because the look disappeared into an even sharper scowl than the one he'd worn before.

_He's angry_, Aeris realized. _I haven't been here ten minutes, haven't said or done _anything _to set him off, and he's angry._

Her heart sank. All her desperate plans seemed suddenly foolish-- a conceited hope-- because the face before her was as cold and implacable as death itself.

* * *

Her eyes were a startling shade of green, so clear and bright they dimmed the rope of emeralds at her neck. He froze, midmotion, staring into that brilliant, expressive gaze. 

And was immediately, irrationally angry-- with Gast.

_He let her come _here?

Then he buried the feeling, as he had buried so many others, and finished sliding the veil off her hair.

* * *

He inclined his head at her, blinking lizardine eyes. Then he leaned closer, and for the first time, she was keenly aware of how alone she was. 

Alone with _him_.

Her heart beat a little rapid tattoo inside her ribcage, and she missed her veil and the gauzy, glittering protection it offered.

One of his hands touched her, cupping her chin, and she felt the contact like a little static shock. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn't-- only tilted her face first one way, then the other.

Inspecting her.

_For flaws, probably._

Aeris recovered herself in a flash and glared at him, batting his hand away. If it was her last night to live, then this night was _hers_.

* * *

He chuckled softly at her outburst, but it was a bemused chuckle. Everything about her: the set of her jaw, the angle of her shoulders, radiated defiance-- not fear. He straightened and considered her from a farther vantage point. 

It was as if her very blood lacked the tendency toward terror.

"You're very-- different," he said at length.

"I suppose you think that's a compliment."

He half-shrugged, and poured himself a glass of wine from a ewer sweating in a bowl of ice, but he turned her words over in his mind. "And," he said, peering at her even more intently, "you're _used _to people thinking that you're different."

That struck a nerve.

He saw the flinch, saw her try to hide the flinch.

"Why are you here, Ariss?" he asked, setting down the wine.

She glared up at him, sparkling eyes flashing. "It's _Aeris_. And I am here by my own choice."

"Forgive my incredulity. It's been-- quite some time, since anyone has volunteered to be my bride. And while I find your bravado a refreshing change of pace, I find it difficult to believe that my _charm_ won you over. What's your real reason?"

She broke the gaze, then, and was silent so long that he prodded her with a: "Hmm? . . . I can tell your father didn't sell you to me to curry favor, and you don't entertain some absurd death wish. So _why _are you _here_?"

"Does it even matter? Let's just--"

"Of course it matters. _You _are not the woman I sent for."

She looked up at him, startled.

"Ah, you thought I wouldn't notice, did you? You think I've seen too many women to keep them straight in my mind? Well, that's very nearly true. But I would have remembered adding _you_ to my harem. Since I never did, I _could _let you go. Say there's been a mistake." He waved a hand vaguely to indicate the incompetence of his palace staff.

"There has been no mistake," her answer was quiet, but firm. "I appreciate the offer, though."

He frowned at her perceptivity. He had not meant to show weakness, and here he had all but offered leniency.

"You don't seem to understand," he said instead. "There's a queue. I see a woman I want, I add her to the harem, she lives there until I call for her. You weren't in that queue, so you must wait your turn to die . . . But now that I know you're willing, I won't keep you waiting long."

Her eyes met his steadily. "_You _don't seem to understand, my _lord_. I am here-- as a replacement."

He frowned, perplexed, mentally running through the list of upcoming women. Who was she replacing? The Nubian? No. She had been last night.

"The survivor from the village I burned?"

"Tifa Lockheart. Yes."

"Hm. The busty one. I'm rather looking forward to her. What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing is wrong with _her_." Her tone implied that there was plenty wrong with _him_. "She is my friend."

"And you wish for her to live one more night in abject terror?"

"I wish for her to escape."

Her bluntness was so unexpected that it took a moment for her response to register.

"That's absurd. She would need help from one of the--"

_Wait._

Hadn't he seen them together, this _Tifa_ and a blonde boy. And when he had ordered her into the harem, there had been a sharp intake of breath from the grunt with the stupid name…

"Cloud Strife."

Aeris did not even nod. She did not need to.

Sephiroth sneered. "By morning, I can have SOLDIERs from here to the sea combing every corner and every backalley for them." _Or can I? Cloud was a favorite among the servants, and Tifa was well-liked, too._ He did not let his doubt show on his face, though. "There is nowhere in the world where they can run from me. You have sold your life and given them _nothing_."

"I have given them tonight."

"That _is _a pity. I prefer virgins."

"Well, you won't have one tomorrow!" she cried, leaping to her feet.

He leaned back, and reached for another sip of wine. "Unless . . . I kill you now and go searching for them myself."

"You won't do that," she said, but she paled a little and didn't sound certain. "That would be a waste, and you hate waste. You know as well as I do that I can give you something that you might never have again: a willing bedmate."

He set the wine down and stepped towards her again, bending his tall frame so that his face hovered above hers. "And _what_ makes you think I want you _willing_?"

He thought she was going to try to strike him, which was amusing, but instead her hands went to either side of his face, and she kissed him full on the mouth.

It was like having his mouth pressed to sunlight, like drinking from a mountain stream. The only thing he'd experienced that was even close, was his release from the laboratory, when the sky had stretched above him for the first time.

He seized her by the shoulders and forced her away from him.

_Gods, what _is _she?_

He stood staring into her wide eyes, and felt a deep, indistinct twinge. If he had paused to give the thought words, they would probably have been: _what beautiful, heavenly danger._

But he did not pause.

Instead, he crushed his mouth down on hers until he tasted a salty tang like tears. He felt her lips tremble under his, felt the rapid rise and fall of her chest as he pressed her, pressed her tight against him.

She tasted like spring.

Aeris pulled away first, breaking from him suddenly and making his eyes snap open. Only then did he realize how tightly he had shut them, closing out all sensation but what she was doing to him.

She was waiting, anxiously, for an answer.

"Alright," he half-snarled, half-whispered, "Let them have tonight."

He took her hand, and led her into his private chamber, holding the canopy aside for her when they reached the bed.

He could not help but notice the way she did not flinch, nor even tense, at his touch.

* * *

When he was finished, Aeris lay staring up at the drapery, waiting for him to say something. But he only sat silently on the edge of the bed, looking a little stunned. 

"What happens now?" she asked, then wondered belatedly if that was a line of questioning that could get her killed.

He turned to look down at her, and something flickered across his face, something that might have been sadness. The shadow passed, though.

"Typically," he said, "My bride entertains me, if she's pleased me." He did not say what happened to the ones who did not please him. "And you have-- pleased me," he added, the last words sounding a little subdued, and far, far more sincere than anything she had heard him say before.

Aeris felt a glimmer of hope.

He recovered himself, though, and said, "What do you like to do? Do you sing? Dance?"

So the spell their lovemaking had cast was broken. Now she needed another one, stronger than the first.

"Both, a little," she replied. "But there was something else I wanted to do."

He raised his brows at her.

"I'll tell you a story."

When he had settled back against the pillows, and she knew she had his full attention, Aeris took a breath, and began . . .

* * *

Hours: 6 

A/N: Ok, folks, nothing but madness from here on out. This fic is where my drabbles go if they're good. Or if they're not and I just feel like sticking them somewhere. Don't expect any ICness or cohesive chronology. I might write the ending next. I don't expect anyone to read the whole piece all the way through-- just find what interests you . . . and if you don't like crossovers, I assure you, you're very much in the wrong place.

Note to Xan: Glad I stumbled on something you like (other than FFVII)! I really appreciate your reviews. And I haven't quit DoM. It's coming, I've just had some hangups.


	3. Deep Space Nine

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Sephiroth and Aeris. Paramount owns _Star Trek_. I own the laptop where this was written.

Author's Note: As reluctant as I am to announce to the world many and various proofs of my own insanity, I figure, what the hey . . . It's _my_ fic. And consider yourselves warned: this is my drabble/nonsense fic.  
And this bit of drabble/nonsense is:

For Ardwynna M.  
Because we all miss our Trek  
Here's Sephy and Aeris . . . With Trill Spots

Based on the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode "Facets." The one major discrepancy is that I have Dax's most recent host as Joran. (You know, the nutter.)

* * *

The shuttle docked without incident, and Jadzia Aeris Dax rummaged around in her centuries-long memory for her bravest smile. Part of her, the part that was only twenty-two years old, had wished vaguely that the shuttle would burst into flame, or that the guardian aboard would contract a space virus that would require her to be quarantined planetside-- preferrably back on Trill. Maybe then the Council would allow her to be the only Trill to simply _not have _a zhian'tara. 

"You look tense," Kira Nerys whispered to her.

_Drat. _

She'd been trying to look calm and confident, and with a hint of that "fully-integrated" look that meant there was really _nothing _she could gain from a zhian'tara. She shot an even tenser smile at her friend.

"What's this all about, anyway?" Nerys asked, but Jadzia didn't get a chance to answer, because the shuttle door swung open, and both of them hurried forward to help a woefully overburdened guardian, by the name of Mananda Rinn, with her series of trunks.

They piled the whole mess onto an antigrav lift and made their way to the debriefing room, making small talk about the journey. She saw the unspoken question in Mananda's eyes:

_Why in heaven's name did you make me track you down like a criminal, hauling all this delicate equipment out here, instead of coming home and getting the ritual done like everyone else?_

_"She's thinking no such thing," _Dax's soothing voice echoed with the certainty born of centuries. _"That's just your own guilt talking."_

Her friends sat in a semi-circle around the briefing room table: Kira Nerys, ex-freedom fighter and now the station's second-in-command; Julian Bashir, station doctor; Leeta,the dabo girl and her boss, Quark, owner and operator of Deep Space Nine's only bar. Beside Quark sat Miles O'Brien, Chief of Engineering, and beside him was Captain Benjamin Sisko, her closest friend, who had known her when she was Curzon Dax. Off to one side, chin resting on his breast, sat Constable Odo-- the changeling, head of station security.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you here, and I want to start by thanking you all for coming. I chose you because, out of everyone on this station, you are the people I feel closest to, and I'd like to invite each of you to be a part of my zhian'tara."

"Zhian'tara? What's that?" Quark wanted to know.

Jadzia opened her mouth to answer, but the guardian spoke first, beginning a lengthy diatribe about what an honor it was for them to have been chosen, and how important the "Trill Rite of Closure" was for Jadzia Aeris as a joined Trill. Jadzia let this go on until it got embarrassing, then interrupted.

"Basically," she said, "I need to borrow your bodies."

* * *

Jadzia Aeris and Kira Nerys stood beside an ornately carved cauldron, waiting for Mananda Rinn to finish the preparation. It seemed like quite a bit of bother: purifications of the room, the equipment, temperature adjustments, all done to a relentless droning chant in High Clerical Trill-- which neither she nor any of her previous hosts had bothered to learn. Jadzia studied her reflection in the cauldron's misty white fluid. Her bangs rose up over her forehead, and her two curling sidelocks partially obscured the line of brown, leopardine spots that trailed from her temples down the sides of her neck. 

_I look young_.

After sharing eight lifetimes as Dax, she knew how to enjoy the prettiness of youth, without fearing the onset of wrinkles and sags.

_But am I _too _young, too inept, just like Curzon said? The hosts who had Dax before me-- they were pioneers in their fields: am I strong enough to face their disappointment in me?_

_And what about Joran? Am I strong enough to face _him?

Jadzia Aeris Dax held the dubious honor of being the first an only Trill to be selected for joining-- after being washed from the Initiate Program. By an odd stroke of fate, she was given Dax-- the symbiont of the very man who had failed her from the course. Of course, she knew now that she'd been given Dax because Curzon was killed by Joran Sephiroth, the madman who had nearly destroyed all of Trill. Joran had forcibly joined himself with Dax as part of his quest for immortality and godhood, making the Dax symbiont-- tainted.

Still, lifestream symbionts were rare enough that the Council opted not to kill Dax outright. Instead, they attempted to repress Joran Sephiroth's memories, then gave the symbiont to Jadzia. If the memories resurfaced and killed her-- everyone would assume that it was because she was an unsuitable host: Curzon had been right to fail her.

The memories _had _resurfaced when Jadzia began _bat'leth _practice, but her friends had rallied and gotten the Council to undo the memory-repression techniques that nearly killed her.

What would the other hosts think, when they saw what Dax had been reduced to?

Mananda Rinn smiled her readiness, although she did not pause in her chanting. She rested one hand on Jadzia's middle, where Dax resided, and the other hand on Kira Nerys' head. A white shimmer began at Jadzia's abdomen, travelled up the guardian's arm, and flashed for a moment as it disappeared into Kira's forehead.

Kira had her eyes closed, obviously a little reluctant at the thought of losing control of her body-- even if it was only for a few hours, and the guardian had assured everyone that they would be able to reassert their own personality at any time.

"It will be like an out-of-body experience: you'll be able to see and experience everything, but you will feel another presence guiding you. You'll be able to regain control just by willing the other presence out of the way."

"Have you ever had a-- personality who was unwilling to leave a host body?" Kira had asked.

"Sometimes," she replied, "It _is _good to be alive again, you know. But I've also had the opposite be true: once, a host body refused to let a personality go back to the symbiont. It was a woman, nine months pregnant, and her water broke during the zhian'tara. The poor man went through eight hours of labor before I was able to convince them both to separate."

The guardian had smiled at her own amusing anecdote, but the male members of her audience went a little pale. Kira, for all her Bajoran inclination towards the spiritual, was not particularly excited about the thought of an out-of-body experience. Jadzia Aeris took it as the compliment that it was a that Kira, indeed all seven of her friends, were willing to swallow their squeamishness and participate.

The last of the light died, and Kira Nerys lifted her head.

But it wasn't Nerys anymore.

The hard, fierce set of her mouth had softened, and there was a gentle sag to her shoulders.

"Now I will leave you two to get acquainted," the guardian said as she excused herself.

Lela, Dax's first host, smiled over at Jadzia Aeris, then paused as she caught sight of her own reflection in the milky water. "Oh my," she said. "You know, there was a brief time when I was a girl, when I would have paid a great deal for skin this color."

For a moment, Jadzia wasn't entirely sure what Lela was talking about: all of her memories from that lifetime were gone. Then she remembered an article she had read about Lela Dax before being joined. Lela had been one of the first women to be elected Legislator and had been the _very _first female Legislator with skin like Sisko's (apart from the lines of ivory spots running down either side of her face.) She had been a first-host, which was considered far less prestigious than later hosts, because the symbiont's presence benefited her only slightly. But seven centuries ago, the young symbiont Dax was all that was good enough for a dark-skinned Trill, and a woman at that.

Lela Dax laughed. "I _love _that look!" She was grinning broadly at Jadzia, "You know, in my day, everyone thought being a first-host was some sort of stigma. 'Almost-hosts' we were called. So short-sighted we are. Now, I'm always the first at each new hosts' zhian'tara-- and I get to see the surprise when they realize how much _I _am a part of them . . . And how much _they_ will be a part of the next lifestream symbiont's host."

She gave Jadzia an affectionate chinchopper, and Jadzia Aeris realized that she had just made a friend. This woman who had lived nearly seven centuries ago understood her, understood how to carry one's self with dignity even when being thought of as second-rate. For the first time Jadzia thought this ritual might indeed have been a good idea.

* * *

The other hosts were each wonderful in their own way. Jadzia learned that her hairstyle came from Audrid Dax and she accepted some useful hairstyling tips from Audrid/Quark, feeling a little sorry that she'd selected a bald host for Audrid. Her predilection for little jackets actually came from Torias Dax, who turned out to be far more flamboyantly gay than Jadzia had imagined. Emony, the dancer, sparred with her and almost won. Miles O'Brien was gracious about the fact that Tobin Dax bit off two of his nails: a terrible habit of Tobin's which seemed to have only gotten worse now that he was dead. 

She caught herself biting her own nails, though, when it came time to join Curzon with Sisko.

_Confrontation time._

"Well," Sisko whispered to her over the guardian's rhythmic chanting, "I always wanted a chance to get inside Curzon's head. Now I get a chance to have _him _inside mine." She tried to laugh at the joke, but it sounded half-hearted, even to her. "_Don't_ let him laugh you off, Jadzia," Benjamin was serious now. "Those of us who knew Curzon knew he was charming and funny-- _and _a bullying pain in the a--. Don't let him dismiss what he did to you."

Then he bowed his head and let the white light envelop him.

"Jadzia," Curzon said, smiling broadly. It was odd to see that crooked smile on intense, serious Benjamin's face, but Audrid/Quark had been an even odder match. "Well, well, my old initiate. Come on, it'll be just like old times. We'll grab something to eat and . . . is there any place here where I can gamble away a little latinum?" His smile grew even more charmingly crooked.

Jadzia Aeris was having none of it. "Why did you wash me from the program?" Her voice sounded clipped, a little wobbly, and she felt that some of her confidence had left her now that Curzon wasn't part of her.

Curzon hesitated, seeming to weigh her with his eyes. "You're right," he said finally, unfamiliar seriousness in his tone. "You're right. As much as I would like to spend this time-- avoiding the issue, you deserve an honest answer. Much more than that, really." He took a breath before continuing. "I never meant to get you thrown out. I-- encouraged some of the other Supervisors to look into taking you on as an Initiate. When I was pressed on why, I wrote something stupid about you being a little too-- rigid for what I thought made a good host, but perhaps another Supervisor could help you along . . . Unfortunately, my opinion mattered far more than I thought it did. With the competition as fierce as it is in the Initiate program, even that slight shadow was enough to convince the Directors that you were unsuitable. At the final vote, I tried to keep you in the program-- for all the good _that_ did . . ."

"But _why_? _Why _did you want to drop me as an Initiate?"

"I didn't _want_ to drop you as an Initiate, Jadzia . . . I wanted you to be far more than an Initiate to me." He looked away. "I know you thought nothing of it: I flirted with _everyone _and the fence post, after all. But the truth is, the feelings I had for you were far from appropriate-- and far from fleeting . . . And I knew I never had a chance with you. You were young and madly in love. I was old, bitter-- and horrifically jealous."

_Madly in love? _

He must have meant Fair, because the single date with the blonde fellow hardly counted. She had gone out with Fair for a while when she was sixteen, but she would hardly describe their affection as "mad," or even "love."

"When I realized I had taken the one thing from you that you wanted," Curzon was saying, "I felt so guilty I almost resigned. I have never been prouder of anyone when I saw you pick yourself up and rejoin the program. I tried to help you along as best I could from the sidelines, but the guilt still ate me. . . The finest thing Joran Sephiroth ever did was run that blade across my throat."

Jadzia opened her mouth to contradict this last statement, but Curzon interrupted. "Now come on, I've only got a few hours to get roaring drunk so I can stick Benjamin with the hangover."

Jadzia snorted. _Same old Curzon. _"_And_ the bill," she added. "Curzon . . ."

"Mmm?"

"I forgive you."

The crooked smile straightened a little, but he promptly put his arm around her shoulders in that teasing, over-familiar way that she hated. But it was a teasing, comfortable hatred.

* * *

"Should I stay here for this one?" Mananda Rinn asked. 

The ritual dictated that the hosts be left alone together to talk, but Mananda seemed willing to make an exception in this case. For this final host, Joran Sephiroth, the guardian had moved all her equipment to the brig, and her vat of milky fluid now sat just outside a holding cell.

"We _have_ taken a number of precautions," Odo said. "Joran was a brilliant swordsman, but I doubt he can escape a fully-enclosed forcefield, and there are two armed security guards outside that door."

The guardian responded with a tight smile, unwilling, apparently, to discuss the fact that Joran Sephiroth had been used as an experiment: resurrecting a millenia-old sentient virus that had driven him insane. And no one really knew the extent of his capabilities.

"Let's not forget, Odo-- _you'll_ be in there with him," Jadzia said.

"Swords don't have much effect on me," he replied.

"Still," Mananda said, "you should have a code word, some way to recognize if you are facing Odo-- or Joran."

"Fine. Ceti Alpha Five." In response to her blank look, he added, "It was the name of the-- homeworld of the felon I'm reading about." Odo, never one to leave his work at work, studied various criminal masterminds in his free time.

Jadzia wasn't entirely convinced this would work. The ritual moved memories from the symbiont to the temporary host, but she assumed that most of the "soul" then resided in the temporary host's brain. Odo, technically speaking, did not have a brain, since his true form was a gelatinous blob.

Still, the white light flared a little as it entered him, then the forcefield was up . . . and Odo began to morph.

Jadzia nodded a dismissal to Mananda, and watched as the dark, slicked hair lengthened and lightened, becoming a silver-white cascade. His clothes changed as well, darkening into black leather, and two tight rows of leopardine spots-- small and narrow, marking him as a Trill from the northern continent-- ran down from his temples and along the sides of his neck.

His head lifted, and Jadia saw that the face was no longer Odo's-- but that of another soft-featured, thin-lipped man. Although . . . this mouth curved more now than Odo's did, twisting into a mocking smile. Glowing green, slit-pupiled eyes fixed on her.

"Good to see you, Jadzia," he said softly.

All thoughts fled from her. The air in the room felt suddenly thick and close, and she realized she was sweating.

"Have you been practicing your swordplay?" he asked with that same eerie gentleness.

She could only nod, as if she were a child being reprimanded.

"Good. Good. And do you think of _me_, when you do?"

He took a step toward the barrier and Jadzia took an unconscious step backward, feeling suddenly as if the invisible power of the forcefield was nowhere near enough to keep him in check.

"Sometimes," she managed, feeling a tremble in her voice that meant: 'all the time.' She wished for Mananda, for Benjamin, for _anyone_, but the only one in the room with her was _him_.

"You're afraid of me," he said, "You're afraid of the power I represent . . . But you don't need to be. You should not have put off your zhian'tara;. I have been waiting for this day, waiting to give you my strength. That is all I have ever wanted to do . . . Lower the forcefield, Jadzia Aeris." His voice was smooth, hypnotic, and Jadzia felt her fingers twitch in the direction of the console. "Let me touch you."

She broke the stare, looking away sharply. "Joran, that's enough--"

He slammed both fists into the forcefield, oblivious to the sudden snowstorm of energy that increased as he refused to let go, little bolts of white crackling across his hands. "You _still_ don't_ remember_," he snarled. "But I'll _make _you remember. _Lower_ it!"

His hands were bending now, bleeding together to form a thin arc.

"Joran! Stop it, you're hurting him!"

The arc grew longer and thinner and hardened into steel: a _ta'avait_-- the Trill equivalent of a katana, only double edged. Just then, the two guards, apparently hearing the disturbance, burst into the room. Joran jerked back from the forcefield then, and slashed at the barrier with the _ta'avait_, cutting a burning "V" into the field.

He was out.

One of his arms snaked around her shoulders pinning her back to his chest. She would have fought him, even knowing that fighting a changeling would do no good, but the sword pricked her throat, drawing a single bead of blood from her neck.

The guards hesitated: unwilling to shoot her, or their constable.

His lips were on her ear, his breath warm and soft as a lovers'. "Ceti Alpha Five," he whispered.

Then he flung her forward, making her fall to her knees, and the blade sliced through her back, erupting from her abdomen.

_Oh God, not Dax! Not Dax!_

"From the heart of hell," he said, "I _stab _at thee."

The guards were firing now, and the sword became a line of golden liquid, slipping free of her. One of the guards caught her as she fell, and the other continued firing at the gold column that leapt upward-- pouring itself into an airduct. Jadzia managed to move her arm, despite the pain in her belly, and hit her comm badge.

"Dax to Sisko," she croaked, "Sir, Joran Sephiroth . . . he's _out_."

* * *

Author's Note: It wouldn't very well be 1001 Nights without cliffhangers, now would it?  
And, just so you know, that _is _the premise here. Crossovers within a crossover. No likee, no readee.

* * *

Bonus Drabble from Ardwynna M: 

"Don't take too long with the story tonight, Aeris. I'm killing you in the morning."  
Aeris snickered up at the canopy. "Yeah, I've heard that before."  
"What makes you think I won't?" Sephiroth glared hard, but looks, even his, never could kill.  
"It's been forty years, Seph. We have grandchildren."  
"So? I said I'm killing you in the morning so dammit, woman, I'm killing you in the morning. And this time I mean it!"  
"Of course, dear." Aeris yawned and rolled over. "Good night."  
Sephiroth prodded her hard in the shoulder.  
"Oh for crying out loud, Seph. I'm trying to sleep. What do you want?"  
"Story!" Aeris sighed and propped her pillows up. "Fine, fine, you big baby. Once upon a time..."


End file.
